"We?" Slughorn's face twisted in hesitation, eyes flicking between Dumbledore and Snape. "Does Severus have to see it too?"
"I believe it's fine, Horace," Dumbledore said gently, nodding. "After all, he's the reason we're here tonight, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh… well… yes, I suppose…" Slughorn mumbled, clearly uncomfortable. "Since this whole thing started because of him, perhaps he can learn something from it…"
He reached slowly into his pocket and drew out his wand. Pressing the tip to his temple, he extracted a long, glimmering silver strand of memory. It unspooled like silk, suspended in the air and gently swirling like mist.
Moments later, the familiar pull of the Pensieve took hold. They were drawn upwards and away from the room by an unseen force, floating through shadow until they landed softly on the carpet before Dumbledore's desk. The silvery contents of the Pensieve shimmered quietly.
Outside, the night was still cloaked in darkness.
"I imagine you saw for yourself, Severus," Slughorn said after steadying himself. He turned to Snape, his voice thick. "And forgive me if I seem long-winded, but I've told you before—Tom vanished not long after graduation. No one knows what truly happened to him.
"I don't want the same for you. You have a bright future.
"You must understand—one's soul is meant to be whole. To tear it apart is a violation, an abomination against nature. So stay far away from such things—they are evil, and deeply dangerous…"
"Thank you, sir," Snape said as he stepped forward and offered a respectful bow. "I will remember your warning."
Though he knew the memory well, Snape genuinely admired the gesture. For Slughorn to share such a shameful piece of his past—deliberately, hoping to guide someone else—it showed integrity, courage, and a kind of moral nobility buried beneath his fondness for indulgence and social climbing.
"Albus…" Slughorn's voice trembled, heavy with weariness. "That Horcrux in the castle… let Severus take you to it.
"And about that resignation I submitted—if possible, would you… kindly return it to me…"
"Sir, you shouldn't leave Hogwarts," Snape said at once, stepping in to pour another small glass of mead for him. "You're safer here."
"Why…" Slughorn took the glass with a feeble grip, barely able to raise his voice. "Why would you need to keep an old man like me… I could leave the country…"
Snape paused, then slowly drew his wand.
With a graceful flick, he traced three glowing words in midair:
Tom Marvolo Riddle
Another flick—those letters began to shift and dance, rearranging themselves until they formed:
I am Lord Voldemort
"This is for your own good, sir," Snape said softly.
Slughorn turned a ghastly shade of white, sweat beading thick across his forehead.
He didn't speak, but his expression was twisted with terror.
For the first time, he truly linked the name Voldemort to the charming, brilliant, ambitious Head Boy who had once roamed the halls of Hogwarts.
Slughorn raised a trembling hand to his lips, fingers quivering like leaves. For a moment, he resembled a helpless, oversized infant lost in fear.
"I—I—" Slughorn shuddered violently, his eyes locked on the floating words. He couldn't tear his gaze away.
"I've given you his secret…" he whispered between his fingers. "What have I done…"
"You need rest, Horace," Dumbledore said softly. "You're exhausted. You'll feel better after sleep.
"And don't worry. Everyone in this room will keep this secret safe. Isn't that right, Severus?"
Snape met Slughorn's eyes and nodded solemnly. "If you wish, I can make an Unbreakable Vow. Professor Dumbledore can act as our binder."
"No… no need…" Slughorn waved his hand weakly and let out a heavy sigh. "That's not necessary… I just… I never should have carried this alone…"
"I'll walk you back, Horace." Dumbledore rose and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. Turning to Snape, he said, "Wait here a moment, Severus. I'll be right back."
With a final flick of his wand, the mead bottle and glasses vanished into nothingness.
He and Slughorn passed Snape and left the office. The door clicked shut behind them.
A minute later, Snape heard the familiar scrape of the stone gargoyle outside resettling.
Left to himself, he wandered the circular office. Though the portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses appeared to be gently snoring, Snape was convinced at least a few were only pretending.
"Hello, Fawkes," Snape murmured, glancing up at the phoenix perched on the golden perch by the door.
Dumbledore's phoenix fixed him with shining black eyes, curious and calm.
"If I were in danger within the castle, and I shouted Dumbledore's name," Snape asked, gesturing toward the old, crumpled hat sitting on the shelf, "would you come for me, Fawkes? Bring that along too?"
Next to the Sorting Hat, sealed in a glass case, gleamed the Sword of Gryffindor, its silver blade catching the candlelight, rubies burning in the hilt.
Snape had no desire to wear the hat. Who knew what thoughts that ancient thing might draw out? If it revealed the truth… he might have to destroy it on the spot.
Still, he thought, maybe that wouldn't be such a bad outcome. Maybe then Hogwarts could finally break the cycle and move toward true unity among the Houses.
With that half-thought amusement, he stepped behind Dumbledore's desk, picked up the Sorting Hat, and reached inside.
He groped for a handle, a hilt—anything that resembled the Sword—but found only emptiness.
What the hell? he muttered to himself. Not brave enough? This relic's bias runs deeper than Salazar's bloody ghost…
"Come on, cut me some slack," he muttered, staring at the hat. "Just because you belonged to Godric Gryffindor doesn't mean you can play favorites."
"What exactly are you doing, Severus?"
The voice came suddenly from behind him.
Snape froze, turning slowly to find Dumbledore back in the doorway.